


Broken Fate

by Kestrealbird



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aranea being hopelessly in love, F/F, Intimacy, Tragedy, it's fiction so whatever, unsanitary fingering probably, wow look I'm actually posting more w/w things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-25 22:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrealbird/pseuds/Kestrealbird
Summary: Things just went downhill my guys what can I say. Also listen I haven't written anything for ages so I apologize if the pacing is off at all I did my best





	Broken Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Things just went downhill my guys what can I say. Also listen I haven't written anything for ages so I apologize if the pacing is off at all I did my best

“Beautiful,” she breathes, tracing all of Crowe’s scars with the tips of her bloodied fingers, leaving flakes of red in her wake. Crowe stifles a laugh, involuntarily jerking when Aranea finds a ticklish spot just below her navel.

There is blood on her hands, splattered across her face and clinging to her hair. It dried hours ago, far before she ever snuck herself into these barracks and woke Crowe up with her weight on either side of Crowe’s hips. Neither of them are sure where Crowe’s clothes have disappeared to, but Aranea was insistent about this, struck in a mood for creativity and reverence, worshipping her lovers body as if she were a temple for Shiva.

Praise has always drifted easily past her lips, flowery words doing little to truly capture the beauty that is laid below her bloodied hands. Crowe stretches and preens under the attention regardless, loosening Aranea’s hair so that it falls in soft curls about her shoulders, easier to grab and tug should she choose to.

They have done this song and dance before, though normally the positions are reversed, for despite her flowery words and reverence, Crowe has always been quicker with the initiative, pinning Aranea to whatever surface they happen to be near at the time, always selfishly taking whatever she wants of her lover.

Aranea’s fingers dip lower still, seeking something warmer, slicker, to mix with the blood on her hands, maybe to wash it off, she isn’t sure, but Crowe offers little complaints, lifting her hips just so to give Aranea better access.

This new development is delightful for them both, if the spark in Crowe’s eyes and the heaviness of her breaths is any indication.

Muscles flex and relax under Aranea’s skillful fingers, one hand intertwined with Crowe’s just to keep her steady and grounded, lest she lose herself in love. Aranea’s eyes are blown wide with wonder, shining as if this is the first time she has ever seen Crowe bare and naked before her, demanding and impatient for her touch.

Aranea treats Crowe like her own personal treasure, because Crowe is just so, so beautiful, and Aranea has never felt this lucky or blessed in her life.

There have been many beautiful women in her life before this, but Crowe is like no other. Her beauty is in her laughter, her jeering, the quick snap of her hips and the growl in her throat.

She doesn't need to be gentle with Crowe. No, that’s not it. It’s not whether she needs to be or doesn't, it’s that Aranea _wants_ to be gentle with Crowe, to worship her and love her like she has no other in the past, even if it means risking being caught during these late-night transgressions with her supposed enemy.

That isn’t right either, she supposes, watching as Crowe rocks onto her fingers, reaching up to pull Aranea into a demanding, breathless kiss. Her services can be brought by anyone, so she has no real loyalties to either side in this war. But, if she had to choose, then she would choose Crowe, a thousand times over, death be damned about it.

Should Niflheim find out they will punish her, surely, but Lucis…? Would it be the right choice to risk that chance?

She has never been brave enough for these decisions.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Crowe scolds, nails scratching just harsh enough into Aranea’s scalp to grab her attention once more. The scowl that purses Crowe’s lips makes her shudder, tempted to forgo her cowardice and simply let loose as Crowe has always wanted.

“Sorry.” She grins, leaning down to take another kiss. Crowe huff's, gladly lifting one leg to hook her knee behind Aranea’s thigh and drag her in deeper. They stifle each other’s moans with eager tongues as Aranea’s leather rubs against Crowe’s skin, almost chafing in it’s harshness.

The blood looks magnificent on her, Aranea thinks, dizzy from the sensation of Crowe’s walls closing around her fingers, their kisses turning sloppy because Crowe is getting needy and desperate, always so quick to lose her cool first.

Still, Aranea takes her time, slowly scissoring her fingers to spread Crowe open before her, chuckling at the irritated grumbles she gets in return. Her mouth aches to replace her fingers, watering at the thought and they are both so close, just a little more and then -

A snuffle from the lower bunk has Aranea jerking sharply backwards, apologizing under her breath, already adjusting her clothes and covering Crowe with the blanket, as if trying to hide their act from the higher powers. Crowe glowers at the ceiling, pouting enough to get one last kiss, and, try as she might, not much more than that is offered tonight.

“Later,” Aranea promises her in a breath, sorrowful that she already has to leave, “and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“You’d better.” Crowe’s mouth chases after her, tantalizing, addicting, but Aranea sticks to her cowardice, disappearing into the night just as silently as she appeared to begin with.

 

She regrets leaving, back then, as she stares down at lifeless eyes bracketed by rich, black blood. Aranea has always known niflheim to be cruel, but she had been so careful to keep their relations a secret. She knows this is about her, because there is a lance engraved into the side of Crowe’s bike, a cruel joke and a vicious claim. They won't get away with it.

Her fists clench and unclench at her sides, tears falling in angry rivers down her face, teeth pulled back into a snarl.

Niflheim wishes to test her and she’ll be sure that they regret it. The prince has already left Insomnia, and if she happens to help him on his journey, if she happens to make excuses about “not doing overtime” to keep him alive, if only so she can watch him tear down this empire, then so be it.

The sickest thing about this, Aranea thinks, closing Crowe’s eyes, laying a shaky kiss on her lips, is that, even now, Crowe looks beautiful with the blood on her skin.

The irony of it all, that her cowardice, which has done all to keep her alive, should be what costs her, in the end.


End file.
